


Like a river to a raindrop I lost a friend

by gustin_puckerman



Category: Front Cover
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Internalised Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 05:04:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14253606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gustin_puckerman/pseuds/gustin_puckerman
Summary: Ning goes back to China, and knows he is utterly miserable. Or how Ning copes after his failed-romance with Ryan, and how he changes after years because of it.





	Like a river to a raindrop I lost a friend

**Author's Note:**

> this movie was so, so realistic i think my heart died and was resurrected again. anyways, a fictional story where dem bois had a (somewhat?) happy ending.

" _Oh morning come bursting the clouds amen_  
 _Lift off this blindfold let me see again_  
 _And bring back the water, let your ships roll in_  
 _In my heart she left a hole..._ "

 

* * *

* * *

 

Ning goes back to China, and knows he is utterly miserable.

Thankfully, Miao doesn't pester him as much as he's somewhat expected her to.

She used to, years ago when they've started dating — she is a girl who gets easily jealous, which is ideal: it makes Ning looks desirable and wanted, and Miao is enchanting enough to make sulking looks adorable on her — but he supposes after years of chasing off rumours trailing him of his encounters with men, it gets tiresome. Miao instead sits next to him like a soldier, steady and reliable, and when people asks him the questions which sends his palm to sweat more than he'd like to admit, she holds her chin up high and smiles like nothing could touch them.

She doesn't stay the first night they land in Beijing, and even if she did, it wouldn't have made his return to his proud motherland better. When she goes to brush his hair back to say her parting words, Ning says nothing about the phone in her hand which keeps buzzing.

That must be her most-recent boyfriend.

Ning sometimes think this is why Miao and him last as long as they had: because they're a good enough actors to keep up with this charade for so long.

One day, Miao will leave him, Ning knows. She will leave him for a wonderful Chinese man and have many wonderful Chinese babies. The whole China will look forward to her life should her career is going as well as Miao's PR agent is informing him, and her parents would be so ever proud. Ning is terrified because he has the same expectation being cut out and laid across the table for him, but — unlike Miao, all of those expectation feels like a noose: tight and thick, wrapped horribly around the diameter of his neck as the strings of society pulls him to smile and wave and speak a certain way. It feels suffocating. Like Ning could act and pretend all he wants but something deep within him _still_ —

Ning lies down in bed and thinks about Ryan's neat little apartment filled with his every achievements and ambitions.

About greeting Ryan when he wakes and seeing him dressed so proudly like nothing Ning could fake. 

 _That could be me_ , Ning closes his eyes and thinks about how his hands reach out to caress Ryan's collarbones, about how natural it's been, and how—how it can be something he does as a routine. _That could be me every morning_. How, in a different life, Ryan could even be here right now; if Ning opens his eyes, he will see a jet-lagged Chinese-American with high cheekbones and wide, open (and assumedly) tired eyes perhaps fighting sleep. He will be right next to Ning, just within his arm's grasp.

—Ning opens his eyes and he isn't.

He never will be.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Ning shoots for his next movie and is offered two other movie deals by the time he hits thirty-three.

It's been a year since the America Trip fiasco, and he is tired and lonely and Miao isn't being as discreet as she should be with her boyfriend and everything's a mess. At least his name stays up there, and he walks down on red carpets and girls still proudly chants his name. This is okay. 

He doesn't sleep with men.

He tries to, but aside from a quick handjob in a bathroom stall he will never openly admit to visiting, he can never... Yeah. It isn't like he _can't_ , because his dick still gets hard and strained if he's properly aroused, but... it's the matter of being with the said-partner during the time that just—it doesn't really work well. It's hard to continue being interested in someone when every time you remotely gets intimate with them, you're just... overwhelmed with this sense of guilt. Like Ning can still go through with it, he can just finish both his partner and himself off, no problem (he's always been straightforward regarding sexual endeavours) but hearing " _You're my first Asian, ever_ " every time he feels a full press of a man's body against him is not a pleasant feeling.

Ning feels possessive, then sick with guilt, and proud so very immensely, before he just — he just craves that last hug they shared.

Thoughts like, "I should've said more" or "I should've not let him go through that" or "I should've hugged him tighter" rings through his mind like a tape Father used to experiment on which went wrong when Ning was eight. He remembered Mother used to get so irritated with him. Ning feels like laughing, understanding now fully of what Mother must've felt.

"I should've said sorry," Ning presses the ball of his eyes against his palms as he hears the door clicks shut. His partner was complaining how Ning kept saying things in English. It's irked him.

When he opens them to collect his shirt, Ning realises the man hasn't even taken the money.

He laughs.

 

* * *

* * *

 

It's unorthodox, but following Ryan on social medias is therapeutic.

He's thirty-four by the time Miao broke up with him and significantly has her wedding set up about a month later. Ning doesn't mind. Everybody keeps painting Miao as the ungrateful villainous creature for letting Ning go, but they're both tight-lipped about what exactly Ning has allowed her to go through when they're "dating". They still hold a large conference clearing up the air though, because Miao has been receiving death threatsand a decline in her reputation as an actress that just doesn't sit well with Ning. She has worked just as much as he did in her career, and while what they had wasn't wholly ideal, Ning does like to believe it _is_ love.

He's scrolling down Ryan's latest instagram feed when Miao sits next to him, steady as ever. Enchanting.

Ning half-regrets he couldn't love her the way she's deserved to be loved, but her engagement ring is heavy and big on her finger, so. Maybe it works out, in a way. Ning smiles, and Miao doesn't even lean in to know and confirm who he's stalking. Ryan's just released an announcement of a project that will come out. He sounds so excited. If Ning had stayed in America right now, would he have been there to celebrate with him...?

" _You don't have to stay here, you know_." Miao explains in Mandarin, her posture calm.

Ning looks over, but stays silent.

Miao turns, their eyes meet. She is serious. " _It was hurting me as much as it has hurt you_."

Ning frowns. " _I'm sorry_."

Miao nods, acknowledges it, but they both know it's not enough. Then, Miao looks at her ring, and her expression softens. She has never looked at Ning that way, he doesn't think. At first, probably. He wonders how he looks like when he's looking at Ryan. Or—any man, really. He wonders how Miao can stand that for years. " _But it's stopped hurting me. For you, if you stay, nothing will stop_."

" _Maybe it won't_ ," Ning admits, the truth is horrifying on his lips, " _But it's a life I know. I can't get away from it_."

Miao looks dissatisfied, but she doesn't rebuke. Not until, " _You can't, or you don't want to?_ "

Maybe both.

 

* * *

* * *

 

He's thirty-five when he goes to America, again. New York.

And he'd be lying if he says he doesn't expect to bump into Ryan... until he discovers Ryan's on a trip to Hong Kong... with his fiancé.

Ning supposes he should've expected it. He, himself, have only just stared a relationship with someone who was an assistant director in his last movie project. The man is two years younger than him, and they're good at pretending they're not fucking each other every other Tuesday night. It certainly isn't — it's not entirely _satisfying_ — not when the man is hiding their relationship behind a girlfriend just like Ning did when he was trying to branch out to the land where dream comes true (or however the saying goes, which, according to Ning, is a load of bullshit. Dreams? _Really?_ When most of the things they produce are made in China?), but it's what Ning has. 

And it has to be enough.

He stops keeping track of Ryan.

 

* * *

* * *

 

He's thirty-six when he really _does_ bump into Ryan in Beijing.

He's there for a friend, really. Siang Long were an up-coming young model who has been slowly rising into the acting world, and Ning has known him quite well when they were paired for a heartfelt comedy about an uncle unexpectedly becoming a guardian to his estranged brother's son after he dies. Siang Long has been complaining all morning on how he can barely communicate with the American designing team they've sent over for the shoot—not that the translator they provided wasn't helpful, but " _it'd be nice to have a friendly face_ ," Siang Long has insisted, and Ning has agreed with a smile.

"...Ning?" Ryan calls once he steps into the set to Siang Long's grateful wails, and everything in Ning's body freezes.

They don't really talk much except for the basic " _how you've been doing's_ " and it's awkward to hear Ryan's neutral American accent after years of... of pretending he doesn't miss it, but _God_ , does Ning can't stop looking over to him. It feels so surreal, like admiring paintings your whole life and seeing the subject of it talking and directing and laughing and having his eyes widened and his hands move and his legs going forward and backwards and—fuck, damn, _those legs_.

The way they're wrapped around his waist...

" _Are you alright, Brother Ning?_ " Siang Long asks. Ning snaps his attention up to realise his whole face is hot. He doesn't usually blush, no, they're not so pastely white to even afford the luxury of having their face changing colour so easily like he knows Caucasian usually do, but. _His whole face is hot_. Ning is trying to contain it rather uselessly with his hand over his mouth, but his throat is tight, his chest is twisting. " _Did you feel sick?_ "

A hand over his shoulder, and Ryan's face is suddenly close to him. 

"Hey, you okay, Ning?"

His hair is longer - slicked back. Does he keep it because it's been a bother to cut? Or because his fiancé likes it long? Ning feels his chest twists some more: the idea of another man burying their hands in those dark strands...

" _Brother Ning!_ "

Ning is suddenly forced to sit down.

Ryan is kneeling. His hands are on Ning's knees.

"Ning," Ryan calls, surprisingly calm in the sea of what Ning can sorta distinguish as chaotic panic in the background, and God. _God, help him_. He wants to reach out. He wants to touch. Kiss. Lean down. Do something. _Sorry_. He wants to say he's sorry. Ryan. He was so hurt, Ning knows this, he can still see— "You're crying."

Oh.

 

* * *

* * *

 

"You really gave everyone a shock."

Ning's smile is tight, forceful. Ryan must know this. He looks down at his drink, uncomfortable. Ning notices his hand. He's been noticing them all night. There are no rings. He tells Ryan this, "You have no ring."

"Huh?"

"You—I thought you engaged." His english is worse when he's sad. He wonders if Mother will be disappointed. 

"Oh. Uh, no. No." Ryan blinks. He looks — distraught. He holds his breath, his empty hands curling-uncurling, like he can't quite believe there is no longer a ring on it. It makes Ning's heart clenches. _What happened_ , he wanted to ask. _Did that man hurt you?_ Ning looks down at his own drink instead. He knows he's lost the right. "I used to, but we ended up—" Ryan makes a dubious gesture, and Ning doesn't push. "How—how did you know?"

Ning shrugs, his guilt is hot tar against his skin, his insides. He feels like melting. "I saw." Ryan is confused, Ning could see. His brows furrow and there's a dimple in between. He's so cute. Ning clarifies. "Instagram."

Ryan makes a face as though he understands, but there's still so much to say. They both know this. 

"I guess..." Ryan starts after a while, his face relaxing as minutes ticked by. "I guess I'm guilty at checking your progress too. You're in the Hollywood new action movie, right? The one with the aliens and robots?"

Ning's eyes widen. From excitement or fear, he's not sure. "You knew..?" He opts with excitement first. The fear... the fear is something he's dealt with for ten-months not including the pre-production period before he finally accepts the role. He's known it too well, his _therapist_ has known it too well—and to let it ruin the moment of discovering Ryan still... cares for his progress. Well, Ning won't allow it.

"Yeah," Ryan seems glad, and his smile—god. Ning misses that. "Never been a big fan of action movie, though, so—"

"You must watch it!" Ning insists before his cowardice can make him change his mind. He grasps Ryan's hand, and it feels like like he's on fire. "You must. Promise me you will."

Ryan seems confused, but slowly concedes. "O...okay. Okay, I will. I promise."

Such few words, and yet... Ning feels like he's smiling for the first time in years.

He squeezes Ryan's hand tighter.

Somehow, Ryan allows it.

 

* * *

* * *

 

"You... your character is _gay_?"

Ryan calls months later to exclaim. Ning's anxiety is high, and press from China is bothering James so much, it seems all of the preparation they've had up to release seems so minimal. Seems like it's not enough. His therapist has been called three times as it is, and an emergency appointment for tomorrow has been set. But Ryan's voice...

Despite it all, Ning smiles.

"I... I guess I'm tired of hiding."

"You—you crazy son of a—"

"Careful," Ning teases, and oh. He feels so tired all of a sudden. So tired. Ryan's breathing is—it's something else. It's funny how much of relief you can simply get from hearing someone just... breathing. Ning smiles, his phone feels cold against his cheeks. "Are you in New York?"

"Y-yes? Why?"

Ning pauses.

" _Ning_." Ryan sounds stern now, demanding. "Why?"

"I'm at the airport. I want to—" _Don't cry, don't cry_. Ning puts a hand over his eyes. He breathes like how his therapist teaches him to. Everything suddenly feels too much. And he—he just misses him so much. "I want to see you... pl-please."

"Stay right there." Sound of keys clicking together and more rustling. Ryan voices again, serious. "I'm coming."

Ning believes him.

 

* * *

* * *

 

"I'm so sorry," Ning cries into Ryan's shoulders later and realises this has been happening a lot. He's an embarrassment. And yet never once have Ryan weakened his stance as he holds Ning up. In fact, he seems to be squeezing Ning closer to him. It's so different than that damning hug all those five years ago. Ning swears he will never hug Ryan with that air of finality again. Ever.

Even if they can't be lovers, he will never—

Ning just hugs tighter, his sobs muffled horribly against the smooth pressing of Ryan's blue-black jacket.

"Dummy." Ryan says and he sounds like he's smiling. "I forgave you a long time ago."

And then, "Let's go home."

They do.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

" _Through chaos as it swirls_  
 _It's us against the world..._ "


End file.
